The Bet
by Violet Butterflies
Summary: Just a oneshot for a cute idea. Kind of slashy. Hope you like.


**A/N: I don't really know what to think of this. It just happened. Anyways, a bit fluffy because I like fluff and bit of slash because it makes slash world go round. Leave a review if you want. Enjoy! x**

"Sherlock, why is everyone watching us?" John asked quietly, his eyes skimming over everyone who, in addition to working, was indeed watching himself and Sherlock. Sherlock looked up from the body he was examining to peer at everyone. He narrowed his eyes, "they seem to be waiting for something," he voiced, more to himself than John, "probably for me to finish up this case so they can all go home." He went back to examining the body.

The dead woman was in her mid-twenties and appeared to have killed herself by taking a lethal drug, but Sherlock was saying otherwise ("Look at her make-up for God's sake! She had a date tonight, do you really think she would kill herself and miss it?) While Sherlock was making deductions and explaining them to John, John was burying his cold hands in his pockets. It was quarter to midnight when they got the call for the case and it was now 12:35 and freezing. John doubted Sherlock noticed, he was too wrapped up in solving the murder to bother about such a dull thing as the cold. Sherlock did, however, notice John trying to warm his hands. "You cold?" He asked, even sounding surprised as if he hadn't even noticed the bitter weather. John shrugged as Sherlock rooted through his coat pockets, "here, put these on," he said throwing a pair of black gloves to John, who accepted them gratefully and pulled them on. Without another word Sherlock continued examining the crime scene for any clues towards catching the killer.

When the case was solved ("Boyfriend's mother. Wished for revenge after she found out she was cheating on her son.") and everyone was packing up to go, Sherlock pulled John aside, "a word, John?" was all he said. John noticed Donovan nudge Anderson in the arm and point at them as they passed, barely hiding smirks. "Sherlock, what's going on?" John asked when they were on the edge of the crime scene. Sherlock glanced at John and looked back towards the team, fingers steepled in front of his chest. "Interesting question John," he said pointedly, "it would seem that everybody in Lestrade's division and a fair few others have a bet going on," he barely hesitated before continuing, "a bet for when and if you and I will become a couple, or admit to being one." John felt his eyes widen and his face flush, was this true? How did Sherlock even know? Sherlock kept going, "it would also seem that there's over five hundred pounds on the bet, due to the amount of people on it. I believe odds are in Lestrade's favour, who says we'll be telling them any day now." John was blushing slightly. Did nobody ever notice when John pointed out that they were not a couple and that he was, in fact, not gay? And Jesus Christ, how did so much_ money_ make its way into this bet?

Sherlock was now looking at John with an amused expression, "what say we give Lestrade a little thank you present for letting us into the crime scene?" Before John could ask what he meant, Sherlock had thrown a quick glance around to make sure everyone was looking, tilted John's chin up with his finger and kissed him softly. The kiss only lasted about two seconds, but Sherlock heard at least two gasps and even somebody muttering "damn," as they lost the bet. He smirked when he pulled away to see John blushing furiously and looking mortified but pleased. He saw Lestrade looking amused and Anderson and Donovan looking annoyed. "Well then, Lestrade, we'll be going. You've got all the data you need to catch the killer. Come along, John." Sherlock added, holding out his hand to John. John took it and they started walking away. They were turning the street corner when they heard Lestrade's voice calling, "right then, pay up you lot!" Which made them both laugh. "That was a good thing you did for Lestrade," John pointed out. Sherlock looked at him, then at their entwined hands, "It wasn't just for Lestrade," he said softly. John looked at him, seeing a faint pink blush on that pale face and felt himself tighten his grip on Sherlock's hand, their fingers entwined. All the way back to Baker St they walked, holding hands, neither of them saying another word.


End file.
